When Gus was around six months old, I started asking people. "At what point do I have to start watching what I say around my child?" They then assured me I had a whole year during which to flush my less-than-prudent potty mouth. Gus wasn't even talking yet.But now I know he was listening.Because while in spite of my incessant prompting, he can't quite pronounce the words "thank you" or "I love you", he can now say "shit" and "asshole" with no impediment.And, since it's no secret that I am an unfit mother, let me just confess that there is nothing funnier to me than my 18 month old with laryngitis saying "shit" and "asshole." There just isn't.Not that I'm encouraging it.Because I'm not.Swearing is bad and wrong. And bad.A little fun(not to mention tremendously satisfying)But mostly just wrong.So, but, can you picture it? Both incidences, of course took place in the car, within two days of the birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ.The second time, there was my little Gus riding in his carseat, sweetly mumbling about the passing "cahs", when one of those cahs just happened to cut mommy off."Asshole!" I said to the cah."Asshole," said the scratchy-voiced bird in the backseat.And then he beamed at me in the rear view.I looked at Larry.Larry looked at me."He just said asshole," Larry whispered."I did hear that.""We have to watch our language. For real now.""You bet your ass we do."

Gus is really not feeling well. I know this because his usual favorite pastime--riding his bike full speed down the hallway and crashing it into the front door--was replaced today by a more alarming activity: sitting silently in my lap for 45 minutes, watching "Kurt Browning's Gotta Skate" figure skating special on tv. And much to Larry's horror, Gus was really, really enjoying it. I think he even cheered a little when Elvis Stojko landed a triple lutz in perfect time to Andrea Bocelli's ludicrous version of Funiculi Funicula. And speaking of Andrea Bocelli, did you know that he is blind? At first I thought he was just feeling the music. Very Deeply. But upon closer scrutiny, I realized, his eyes, they were not bearing witness to the figure skating merriment taking place on the rink below. And oh what merriment! Those pro figure skaters sure know how to whoop it up! Unlike their former Olympian selves, they are now "just in it to have fun." Translation, "They are going to live out their musical theater dreams on your watch. So prepare ye for the horror." A former figure skater, myself, I can admit that there is nothing cool about the sport. (I can also argue at length with my pal Chad about whether figure skating can even be classified a a sport. Yes it can. Can too. Can too.) Last night, Larry naturally chose to walk in just as Kurt Browning was skating to the pinnacle of shame. Dressed like an Italian waiter, Kurt was sporting a waxy little mustache and prancing around the ice to Andrea's way-too-earnest rendition of "That's Amore." Now, Andrea happens to be an actual Italian person. I don't think he even speaks English. And as far as I'm concerned, it's pretty much an act of heresy for an actual Italian person to sing "That's Amore" with a straight face. It's just wrong.Speaking of things that are both Italian and wrong, it appears that Gus has the beginnings of a unibrow. I pointed it out to Larry, and as if I were an eleven year old boy pointing out the beginnings of my own mustache, he rolled his eyes and said, "that's just a smudge of dirt.""Nay Pops, look again," said I. "Those there are actual hairs. Hairs that will eventually grow up and become one big furry caterpillar whose sole mission in life is to oversee the blessed union of Gus's eyebrows."Now that's Amore.

Being pregnant is like beingmentally handicapped.Mentally handicapped and sad.And angry!And happy!And sad.And angry!And then happy!!And then happily angry!!!And then just sort of fatand tired.Fat and tiredwith a serious aversionto the smell of breaded chicken.

Duane: Home Depot this is Duane speaking how may I help you.Me: Can I speak to Terry please?Duane: Sure just a minute.HOLD MESSAGE AND HOME DEPOT THEME SONGDuane: Home Depot this is Duane speaking how may I help you.Me: I'm holding for Terry.Duane: Oh, right. Just a minuteHOLD MESSAGE AND HOME DEPOT THEME SONGDuane: Home Depot this is Duane speaking how may I help you.Me: Duane. It's still me. Waiting for Terry.Duane: Hold just a minute.HOLD MESSAGE AND HOME DEPOT THEME SONGDuane: Home Depot this is Duane speaking how may I help you.Me: Duane. Seriously. You must get Terry. Get her now.Duane: I'm in the phone room. I can't leave.Me: I need to speak to Terry. It's very important.Duane: Okay. Hold just a minuteHOLD MESSAGE AND HOME DEPOT THEME SONGJohn: Receivings this is John can I help you?Me: I'm trying to get Terry on the phone. Please, please get me Terry.John: Okay, I'll transfer you.HOLD MESSAGE AND HOME DEPOT ....Duane: Home Depot this is Duane speaking how may I help you?Me: Dude, seriously. I am about to lose my mind, here. If the next person I speak to is not Terry, I think I may have a nervous breakdown and charge you for it. You're killing me. YOU ARE KILL-ING ME.Duane: Oh, sorry. Terry's not in right now.Me: Can I leave a message for her?Duane: SURE!Me: And you'll write it down and give it to her?Duane: Yes!Me: And you won't just keep handing the note to yourself over and over again?

I will never understand grownup people who don Winnie the Pooh or Disney-themed apparel. It makes no sense to me. And if you ask these people, "Why, WHY do you do it?" They will undoubtedly reply, "I just love Pooh!"Well, I love Swiss cheese. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna sew it on a denim jumpsuit and wear it to work.